


I want you to want me (I’m begging you to beg me)

by Catharrington



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cum Eating, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sad Steve Harrington, Sad with a Happy Ending, Tina’s Halloween bash, cum throwing up, halloween party, handjobs with cum, sex to cope, using cum as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: “Hargrove,” he calls the name like a moan.Billy’s eyes flick up to watch him. The tip of his smoke catching on his gasping suck of breath to burn bright orange. Yellow ash caught on fire tumbles to the ground. Falls across Billy’s fingers and making his fingers dirty. So fucking dirty. Must still be wet with beer. Wet with sweat. His skin and the leather over it clutches to the ash as desperately as Steve clings to the sink behind him.“So are you just all talk, Hargrove?” Steve says with a sneer. “You gonna do something about it?”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	I want you to want me (I’m begging you to beg me)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: slight vomit kink, Steve doesn’t actually swallow a mouth of cum he just holds it in his mouth then spits it up. Yes, yes, Steve spits. Make fun of him in the comments he deserves it.

Steve went to push his hands against the door frame of Tina’s stupid fucking Halloween bash, instead he knocked a witch-hat right off some girl’s head. Sent it tumbling down to the ground. He stumbled forward and crushed it under his shoes, just for good measure. 

Just because he was a mess and a fuck up. Because he’s bullshit. 

“Hey, look where you’re going, dude?” The girl snapped at him. Her hair fluffy with hat-head, and her eyes narrowed. Mean. 

Steve wishes she would slap him right across the face. He wants to feel the sting of those claw like feme fingers as they carve into his cheeks. It would sting less than words— it would make him forget the real way he’s been slapped around inside. 

“Sorry,” he exhaled. His eyes big and apologetic, but he didn’t stay to make sure they worked. 

Steve pushed himself to stumble farther into the party. Searching for the living room door he was sure was right around here somewhere. 

The bodies rocking with the music seemed to gobble him up, rocking like waves churning dark under the moonlight. Streamers glittering with oranges and purples hang over head. Steve tilts his face up to try and get some air, instead his sunglasses catch against a strand of toilet paper hanging from the ceiling. 

Steve jerks backwards, hands climbing to untangle himself from the hulking fisherman’s net he feels like he’s caught in. Closing around all each side. A sack of vomit green tying off at the top just waiting to swallow him. To vanish him without a trace. 

“Hey!” Another voice snaps. 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath that sounds like a sob to him as he braces his hands across broad shoulders. Used them to catch himself from falling. He jerks his head to try and regain some sense of up and down, ends up throwing his sunglasses to the side. 

He looks up, with clean eyes, to see Billy Hargrove is his saving grace. 

“Harrington,” he drawls like an asshole, “I want to make fun of you with some shit like ‘lost in the forest, Snow White,’ but you seriously look like hell—,”

“Fuck off!” Steve snaps at him. He isn’t taking his hands off Billy’s shoulders. Why isn’t he taking his hands off Billy’s shoulders? “I feel like shit, Hargrove. Feel like I’m gonna retch, man.” 

And it feels better to be honest with himself. Because Steve doesn’t feel okay, he feels like shit and it’s good to hear he actually looks it too. His stomach is a swamp witch’s mix of vile ingredients all trying to rip free from his gut. Rat’s tails and pickled fingers, juicy eyeballs and frog’s breath, spinning round and round. 

“Let’s get your ass to a toilet then, before you really turn this into a party,” Billy doesn’t even look at him as he says it. Just cups Steve by the bend in his elbows and leads him away. Steve’s hands keep their grip on Billy’s shoulders as he walks along, feeling how they bump and move with his heavy footfalls. His wide cowboy stance that always struck him as so goofy. Steve can’t get enough of the way it makes his muscles tense. 

He was acting dangerous. Steve knew himself enough to know that. Knew when he was playing with a toy to cope. Or too prove something to himself in a sick, twisted way. 

He felt the spell in his stomach settle when he considers that. What was he trying to prove? Billy Hargrove didn’t have anything to do with Nancy. He wasn’t there last year when she changed her mind, when he stopped being the happy ending. 

Billy Hargrove had been barking up his tree the second he stepped foot into Hawkins High parking lot. Had been following him with those sea foam colored eyes so closely, with so much hunger in them. 

And he’ll be damned about further meaning. Or reasons. Steve wanted the attention. Simply as that. And he deserved it. He deserved to be desired and hungered for, he deserved to be wanted. He fucking deserved better than being called bullshit. 

Being told his love was bullshit. 

Billy manhandled him into the bathroom. Steve faintly knew where they were, up at the second story in some bathroom attached to a room. Maybe Tina’s parents who were blissfully unaware of the party raging just below Steve’s feet. That sent a thrill down Steve’s pants he wasn’t sorry for feeling. 

“Right here, Princess, got your throne ready!” Billy lifted the lid of the toilet with a grin. 

Steve reclined against the sink, leaning back so his feet were almost kicked out and the small of his back was holding his weight. “Har-har, Hargrove. You’re like a comedian, man. Should charge money for those jokes.”

Billy shrugged. But his smile was sharp as a snarl. As any insult Steve knows is swimming around in his pretty head. He wanted to hear them all. 

Watches as Billy takes a step backwards to lean against the wall and Steve thinks: he doesn’t want Billy to be that far away. 

Billy waves the back of his hand towards the toilet. Using his other to fish out a crumbled pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He punches one out and slides it between his fingers. And damn, Steve’s throat catches on his own breath as he watches the shaft of the cigarette move between those thick fingers. 

Billy’s wearing black leather gloves for his costume, metal studs in the knuckle, and they’re fingerless. They add so much bulk, make them look thick and meaty, even when they already are. 

Steve rolls his head back over his shoulders. Keeps watching Billy from between half closed eyes. 

“Go for it,” Billy sneers between the shaft of his smoke, “I’ll hold your pretty hair back while you chuck.”

Steve gives that a second to float in the air, his stomach settling more and more. The music muffled under his feet making vibrations through his legs. Up to his dick. His clammy hands clutching the skin are cold as porcelain dolls. With his head leaned back the length of his hair is softly tickling under his black jacket collar, it feels good, feels sexy, and Billy Hargrove just called him pretty. 

“I actually just got my sea legs, Hargrove, so sorry to burst the show,” Steve sighed out. 

The smell of smoke was filling the small bathroom. Permeating into his clothes and then into his skin. Making him warm with the fog of it when he once was cold. 

Steve opened his mouth, “you think my hair is pretty, big guy?” he asked quietly. Nervously. With enough fire to burn someone alive. 

Billy watches him, smoke billowing out his nose and between his lips. His teeth crunch into the filter of the smoke in such a way Steve thinks he can hear it. 

“You’re pretty all over, Harrington. And you’re drunk as a sailor.” Billy’s eyes flick downwards. His hand lifting to play with the smoke between his lips. His big fucking fingers covering the rose color blushing across his face. 

“I’m not drunk—,” Steve snaps back. 

“Harrington, you just told me you were going to gag?” Billy’s got a sculpted brow raised and his attention on Steve. 

“I’ve had two drinks tonight, Hargrove! That’s not drunk,” he laughs at his anger. How fake it sounds. How hollow it sounds. He wants to choke on it. 

The bathrooms in silence but it’s isn’t quiet, someone from the living room right under their feet sings along to some song they can only hear the bass of. Steve feels it like a vibrator against his skin. He tilts his head backwards, let’s it fall along his shoulders, and groans. 

“Hargrove,” he calls the name like a moan. 

Billy’s eyes flick up to watch him. The tip of his smoke catching on his gasping suck of breath to burn bright orange. Yellow ash caught on fire tumbles to the ground. Falls across Billy’s fingers and making his fingers dirty. So fucking dirty. Must still be wet with beer. Wet with sweat. His skin and the leather over it clutches to the ash as desperately as Steve clings to the sink behind him. 

“So are you just all talk, Hargrove?” Steve says with a sneer. “You gonna do something about it?”

Billy crosses the bathroom in a blink, his smoke flicked into the open seat of the toilet before he braces both hands on either side of Steve’s hips. Their hands touch. Without a second of consideration they lace their fingers together. Clutching just as desperately to each other, digging near painfully into the bones of each other’s hands. 

The growl on Billy’s face is a harsh contrast to his embrace. 

“Not drunk, huh,” he’s got his eyes down on Steve’s lips, his own parted to show off his fang like teeth, “you ain’t drunk then let me know— what’s pretty boy’s limit?” 

Steve opens his mouth, doesn’t reply, just enjoys the way Billy’s eyes have dilated to nearly all black while watching his lips. Steve pushes the lower one into a pout. He’s really getting tired of talking. 

Billy moves one hand up to trace the jutting bone of Steve’s jaw. Feels how Steve shivers with his exhale. Then Steve’s nuzzling, digging around with that long nose until Billy’s hand is up next to his mouth. 

“You’ve got no idea what my limit is, bastard,” he talks but his lips are muffled by Billy’s hand. By the gloss of the leather covering Billy’s palm. 

Steve doesn’t let himself think too hard as he licks a fat stripe across that palm, savoring the horrid taste of Billy. Curling the tip of his tongue as the gets to the end just to drag it out that much longer.  
It’s so much, so much fog around Steve’s head. All because of one guy, Steve whimpers at the thought. 

Billy can read a room. He delivers right where Steve is needing him to. Billy slips his pointer and middle finger in Steve’s mouth. Rubbing across his tongue and pumping them in and out. Meanly. Painfully. Making Steve fight down a gag. 

But he does fight it down, his eyes fluttering closed because Billy’s fingers are thick. His lips hit against the leather of his gloves, burrowing his fingers right to the knuckles.

Steve curls the tip of his tongue to taste Billy’s leather. They taste like beer and sweat. Delicious on the back of Steve’s throat. He lets out a wanton moan around the fingers working inside him.

Earns himself another low growl from Billy. 

Steve’s moans get caught and turned into a gag. Mouth pooling spit that’s beginning to drip from his open lips. Drooling all down his throat and over Billy’s wrist. Making the leather gloves more glossy, more delicious. Below the smoke ash, he picks up a taste like the artificial red of the Halloween bash’s punch bowl. 

And that’s gross. Steve tries to back up a little before he’s throwing up the warm alcohol into his mouth. 

But Billy braces the back of Steve’s neck and holds him. Their shoes scuffing on the bathroom linoleum and the sounds of Steve gagging are quiet under the thrumming of the music blasting from the party. Steve’s listening intently, hearing his own voice a whimpering mess and Billy's rolling mean with anger. With feral desire. 

Steve closes his eyes and tries to relax to the thrusting, trying to control his stomach and his throat muscles from lurching at the intrusion. 

Billy’s eyes don’t leave his lips for a second. He’s throat fucking Steve with his fingers until those pouty lips are glossy wet and bright red with the scratching of his short nails. Spit all down his throat and tears making his dark eye lashes stick together. Steve clutches the sink behind him hard, panting with his mouth open, yanking himself backwards to try and get some air. 

But everything smells like Billy. Everything tastes like Billy. 

Steve’s legs are shaking and threatening to give out under the waves crashing into him. Letting his weight sit on the sink, he unconsciously pulls up his legs so just the tip of his sneakers are squeaking against the floor. Leaving marks. 

He whimpers out between Billy’s fat fingers, rocking his hips in a cry for attention. His hard cock hurts against the fly of his jeans. 

Billy grabs the bulge with one hand, mean and rough and the same way Steve’s always daydreamed about Billy being when he grabs him. 

Steve opens his mouth wider to let out a desperate whoreish moan, and Billy takes that chance to use his twin fingers to push his tongue flat and spit a thick glob right into the back of his throat. 

“Gee,” Billy’s tone is teasing. “I’ve got your pussy-mouth all loose and ready for me, huh, Harrington.” 

He pulls his fingers loose. They are red like cherry popsicles. Wet with sweat like they’ve been melting in the sun. Steve instantly misses the pressure, the fullness, chases the fingers with an embarrassing cry. 

“Huh, king Steve?” Billy wipes his wet fingers across his opens jacket. Half on the black leather left unzipped and half on his naked chest. It’s filthy, gross, but so Billy. 

Steve nods so quickly it makes his head spin. 

Then, Billy pushes on his shoulders to make him kneel down between the sink and Billy’s rock hard body. And for some damn reason. Steve lets himself go.

Billy’s reaching down to unbuckle his belt, clinging the metal onto his zipper as he slips his belt free. Undoes his buttoned fly to reveal more of his carved chest, more muscle flexing taught and dripping wet with beer and Steve’s spit. And a perfect curly patch of a happy trail leading down into his jeans. Hair hair as light as his mustache, and Steve hopes it’s just as corse. Just as rough on his skin. Hopes it’s going to leave marks. 

He opens his mouth, sore and blood red, opens it like a good boy for Billy to feed the length of his hard cock. His mushroom head velvety soft against the back of Steve’s throat. 

He lets it happen, let’s Billy inch by inch into his mouth. Whimpering pitifully around the weight on his tongue. 

The feeling of being full again makes his head swim. He can feel every pump of pre-cum as it slowly milks. Can feel the back of the sink counter against his hair as it digs sharply into his head. Can feel the way Billy’s thigh muscles kick and flex as he settles ballsack to chin inside Steve’s mouth. His nose disappearing into the patch of dusty blonde pubic hair. Steve’s got a line of snot mixing with the spit bubbling from around Billy’s hard shaft. But he can still smell the cologne clinging to his cock. 

“There you go, pretty boy,” Steve hears Billy moan above him. His voice quiet with strain, a forced groan through his bared teeth. “Knew you’d be so good for it. So good on your knees. Perfect with my cock in your pretty mouth.” 

Steve preens under the words. Wants to be perfect. Wants to be a good little cocksucker for Billy Hargrove. 

He nods his head along to the praise, his sharp nose burrows deeper into the flagrant patch of Billy’s pubic hair. His spit gathering under his tongue bubbles up and drips down the shaft of Billy’s cock. One line thick and unbroken coming out to drip down Billy’s ballsack. 

“Fuck you feel so good, Harrington. So fucking perfect around me. Like a little fucking toy made for sucking dick.” 

Billy’s hands lift to cup around the top of Steve’s wild hair. Threading his fingers between the molten chocolate strands and getting a nice fist full to control the position of Steve’s head. Steadying his skull with an iron grip as he shallowly thrusts in and out of Steve’s quivering throat. 

The back of his throat hurt, felt like his skin was being bruised by the head of Billy’s cock hitting against it. Steve gagged on the feeling. Felt his throat flex and try to push out the velvet shaft as it pushed in and in. Down and down, until Steve was struggling to breath even through his nose. 

Billy giggled lowly, his voice a tease, and took one hand from the top of Steve’s head to brush across his brows. Pushing his wild hair from covering his eyes. Steve looked up as best he could with his head held in an iron grasp. As best he could with a hot iron rod pressing down his throat. 

His brown eyes bubbled over with tears. Sliding down the apples of his cheeks and across his lips pulled tight around Billy’s cock. Mixing with the mess of saliva there. 

“I’m close,” Billy gasped out, still working his hips in a tight, shallow rhythm. “God, so close. Gonna take care of me, Harrington?” Billy asked. 

Steve wanted to answer. Wanted to nod his head and say yes—yes of course he’ll take it, but he didn’t have to. All he did was prod the bottom of Billy’s veiny shaft with his tongue and Billy came.  
Spilling out into Steve’s throat in heavy, hot ribbons. His thighs quivering again in his tight jeans as he throws his head back. 

“Fuck,” Billy hisses out, his hips rolling like his voice. 

“Fuck, Stevie, so damn good,” he mutters. 

Then his hands are moving, curling almost gently off the tight grip in Steve’s hair to come down and cup his jaw. He backs Steve’s head off his softening cock. Pulling him gently, so fucking gently backward. Billy’s cock slips out his lips with a soft pop. Strings of saliva tying those plumps lips to it gossamer as spider webs. 

Steve’s still gaging, wretching quietly to himself as he struggles with the flavor of salty cum dripping down the back of his throat. His whole body shakes with it. His chest folding up into itself and his shoulders hunching over as he tries to steady the new witch’s ingredient in the bullshit-potion in his gut. 

Billy notices, his hands pulling Steve by the scruff of his neck and black tailored jacket to stand up again. Shaky long legs feel a rush of blood as Steve reaches out to get a steadying hand on the porcelain sink. 

They are nose to nose. Billy hasn’t taken a step back from where he was bucking his cock so far down Steve’s throat he felt it in his lungs. And Steve can’t back away, physically can’t. 

He doesn’t want to, though. Wants with all he’s feeling that night to stay just a breath away from billy. Wants to be pinned desperately and wanting by those pretty pink lips and wild blue eyes. 

But Steve’s closing his eyes with the efforts no not throw up the cum Billy’s just feed him. 

“It’s okay,” Billy’s voice is spent, warm and comforting across the waves of uncomfortable nausea. 

“Hey, Harrington, look at me,” Billy tilts his chin again. 

Steve opens his eyes. Meets those ice cube blues that melt down his skin so cold, so relaxing. 

Billy smirks. “That the first dick you ever take?” he asks. 

Steve nods. Doesn’t trust this voice to be working at all. His throat feels gutted by that dick Billy so crudely mentioned. 

Billy whistles, his cruel smirk melting into satisfaction. Into something almost loving. “Your throats a real good, pretty pussy— but it’s okay to spit that shit out. I know it don’t taste good.” He moves his hand under Steve’s blood red swollen lips. 

Cups his hand like he’s waiting for something. “Go ahead,” he urges. His other hand gently brushing back the hair from Steve’s forehead. 

Steve feels his heart leap. His stomach right behind it. He gags once, holds it between pursed lips, then he does has he’s told. Opens his mouth and lets out a warm glob of thick cum, twisting and mixing with the clear saliva he’s been trying to swallow back. Marbled with it. 

Billy’s hand jolts as he gets a palm full, but only for second. Then he curls his lips over his teeth in a smile. 

“That’s a real good boy,” he coos. 

The hand holding Steve’s hair gets busy working to open Steve’s belt buckle. This time, Billy’s smoother with the metal, getting the leather strap out his belt loops with a hiss. Yanking Steve’s zipper down just enough to push his briefs away and free his rock solid cock. One hand holding the fabric tucked under Steve’s balls, while the other still filled with spit and cum wraps around Steve’s shaft. 

It’s so good, so warm and wet. Billy’s grip on him is mean. It’s tightness and pace is unforgiving. Tugging at Steve’s cock like it’s a race. Pushing all his own cum and Steve’s stomach-acid hot spit around the cherry red head, then pulling his fist back down to grip the root of his cock firmly. 

Getting him to the edge, then pinching him off. Over and over again. 

Steve cries out, doesn’t want to moan as loudly as he does but he can’t stop the noise. Cant stop the way Billy’s making him feel like a truck-stop whore just begging for it. Opening his mouth for the dirtiest, biggest cock he can find. His whole body vibrating with the idea of being soiled, dirty, ruined for anyone else other than Billy Hargrove. 

Being marked with Billy’s cum smeared all over his cock. 

Steve let’s his head tip forward as he cums. His legs tightening up where they are still uncomfortable trapped, his sneakers skidding loudly against the tile again as Billy milks him dry. Jerking his veiny shaft up as he cums in a straight line onto Billy’s exposed stomach. Between the open leather jacket. Mixing with the sweat and the beer. Marking Billy just as Steve had been marked. 

Billy tilts his head forward too burrow his nose into the messy chocolate nest of Steve’s hair, nuzzling until the tip of his button nose meets scalp. 

Steve gulps deep breaths trying to come down. He relaxes into Billy’s hold. A mock of a hug. Billy’s hands leaves his over sensitive cock to cup around his hip. Pulls him close, pulls him so their hips are flush. So their spent cocks still sticky with Steve’s spit rub against each other. A mess of both their cum. 

He lets his face rub deeper into Billy’s neck. He can smell the sweat coming from his jacket, but it honestly smells sweet. Smells good. 

He takes deep greedy gulps. Same as he can hear Billy’s panting breath into the top of head. Tussling up his hair, Steve hates that he loves it. 

They stay like that until a knock hits against the door. 

They don’t care they their cocks are soft or that Steve’s spit has gone room temperature. Steve’s neck was still pressed io the furnace of heat that was Billy’s body. And the others nose is still softly nuzzled into his hair. It felt so good so right. So filthy. 

But the knuckles kept knocking persistently on the door. And Steve knew he had to detach. Knew it wasn’t meant to last so long, but he wished it didn’t end so quickly. 

“Harrington, I—,” but Billy drew back. Holding Steve out by the length of his arms for a second before turning around. By the sounds of it he was rustling around in his jacket pocket, the zippers clinging together. Steve can’t miss the sound of a lighter flicking to life. The deep sigh of taking the first drag of a cigarette. 

Steve closes his eyes and leans back a little more. Doesn’t really want to watch Billy smoke after sex, then turn around and say ‘nice lay’ before patting his cheek and running off. Steve’s new to cocks in his throat, but he isn’t new to that. Running away when you don’t want to be attached. 

Steve’s so caught up in trying to taste the Marlboro reds in the air, and not listen to the sounds of Billy’s thick boot steps, he doesn’t hear Billy’s gotten closer. Not until the other is grabbing Steve around by his forearm. 

He almost yanks his arm back, the grip rough and the feeling of being yanked slightly forward making him feel vertigo. But Steve only gets out an annoyed chirping noise, doesn’t really got the energy to pull Billy’s grip off. 

“Don’t fuckin feel like you gotta or anything, pretty boy. But if you want, give me a ring,” then Steve’s feeling his tailored jacket being pushed up his arm. His skin pricked with the gel of an ink pen tip.  
Billy writes across a phone number in swirling font Steve can’t take his eyes from. Puts a smaller date and time under it, like an appointment for more dick. And then initials right under it. Stains Steve’s skin with his first and last. Billy Hargrove. B.H. Property of. 

Steve shivers. Keeps shivering as Billy pulls away, caps the pen, then slips it back into his jacket. Can’t take his damn eyes off the initials. 

“Only call me Friday at this time, got it?” Billy looks dead serious. 

Steve blinks back the gloss forming over his eyes. A shocked squeak pries his throat open. He’s sure he isn’t going to talk proper for a long time, his throat raw and scratched beyond use. 

He swallowed thickly, tastes stomach acid and something unmistakable Billy over his tongue. Hopes that doesn’t go away for a while either, before nodding his head. 

Billy tilts backwards on his heels. Looks down his handsome face at Steve, with lips turned up in a half smile. His eyes flick across Steve’s body up and down. Steve remembers just then he left his pants unzipped. And maybe he clumsily fumbles with them while Billy’s huffing out a quiet laugh. 

“See ya, Harrington,” Billy bids just as Steve gets his buckle back on. Opens the door with a twist before walking out. His wide cowboy stance, making room for that big dick in his tight pants, Steve can’t help but watch him go. 

And then a girl comes around the corner. Her fingers are slim as she is as she peeks around the door way. 

Steve sucks in a deep breath he uses to hide a curse. Then he reaches sideways to flush the toilet in a wild attempt at making any of this not look suspicious. 

“Hey, Tina,” he greets. And his voice is just as fucked as he knew it would be. Just as used, marked. He loves it. “I barfed,” he tries to warn her but it comes out as a giggle. He sounds like a 60 year old who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day and he’s giggling. 

“Yeah, Steve,” she says with a cute yip to her voice, “I gotta pee?”

He jerks off the sink, still giggling, and slides out the door as far away from her as he could. “Sorry,” he laughs about it. Because he isn’t sorry at all. 

He isn’t sorry when he goes back down to the party and take a beer for the road just to enjoy himself.  
He isn’t sorry when he spends the next two days trying to get out of talking by avoiding his friends and Nancy. 

He isn’t sorry when he doesn’t avoid Billy at all. Instead, shoves his way into the California sunshine. Shows him fire while playing basketball and his King Steve, he wasn’t sure he still had, with a wink. 

He isn’t sorry when it’s Friday night and he’s twirling the phone cord in his kitchen around his pinky finger like a love sick school girl. 

He isn’t sorry when he climbs into the passenger’s side of the Camaro at midnight and slides his hand up Billy’s leg. Digging into the muscle around his knee and dragging his grip higher and higher, tracing the inseam of his jeans, and settling right where his cock is already filling out curled around his hip. 

“How’s your stomach, Harrington?” Billy asks. Revving the engine too loudly for Hawkins Indiana at midnight and smiling wide. 

“Just drive, Hargrove,” Steve huffs, already wondering if he should drop his head between these thighs right here while he drives or if that would be too dangerous, “and maybe I’ll thank you for taking care of me so well on Halloween.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I was spewing nonsense in the group chat while getting drunk on Halloween... and it turned into this!!! I hope y’all enjoy!! Let me know your favorite kink in the comments and if it’s Billy’s fingers ;)


End file.
